


killing ourselves a kiss at a time

by cassanabaratheon



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 07:33:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/937161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassanabaratheon/pseuds/cassanabaratheon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tears are no stranger in their house. Nor is the sound of slamming doors, breaking glass and strained silences. Her crying only grows louder, her hands covering her face do nothing to stifle the sound and when it becomes too much, he gets up and stumbles out of the front door. She doesn’t try to stop him, doesn’t call after him to plead for him to come back. She might have done once but not now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	killing ourselves a kiss at a time

**Author's Note:**

> moves between present and past. From MJ onwards. Title from the song Drunk on Shadows by HIM.

Tears are no stranger in their house. Nor is the sound of slamming doors, breaking glass and strained silences. Her crying only grows louder, her hands covering her face do nothing to stifle the sound and when it becomes too much, he gets up and stumbles out of the front door. She doesn’t try to stop him, doesn’t call after him to plead for him to come back. She might have done once but not now. She just remains up in their room on the unmade bed with the sheets now clenched in her fists. The tears slowly stop, her hard breaths soften and she stares at nothing until she eventually lies down too exhausted to do anything else.

Later that night, nearing dawn to be precise, he makes his slow way back. He somehow manages to climb the stairs and pushes the door of their bedroom open. In the dim light he sees her on the bed, still clothed in her summer dress that is wrinkled, rucked up and tangled around her legs. She looks a mess and so fucking _fragile_ and he hates that. He looks away as he tastes bile rise in the back of his throat when she whimpers in her sleep. He barely makes it to the bathroom in time and then as he sits on the floor with his back pressed against the wall and closes his eyes.

He wishes for the hundredth time that she wasn’t there.

 

-/-

 

…Her eyes were wide and so empty. He searched them but they just stared blankly up at him and his hands tighten on her arms. Why doesn’t she do something? He wanted to yell at her. Why doesn’t she fight him? It sickened him to think how easily she accepted him handling her like this. She made a feeble attempt to shrug him off but it did nothing but anger him even more. He did not fight to save her to only have her act like some hollow doll. Maybe she might have been better off dead if this is how she planned on living. Half-alive and barely a shadow of her former self. As if nothing had changed. He had watched her routine. She repeated the same thing over and over so she didn’t have to think, merely follow the timetable etched onto her arm and he had to stop her.

“Just leave me be, Haymitch,” she murmured lowering her eyes but he wouldn’t let her. He couldn’t bear to see her give up, he wanted her to fight.

He wanted her to catch fire and burn.

He didn’t think about the consequences or why he did it but at that moment it felt right. He kissed her, holding her face with his hands and he registered her shock from the way she froze. His hand on her jaw was perhaps too tight and her hand came up as if to pull it away. But she didn’t, her fingers stroked over his knuckles and then something within her cracked. A small sob broke through her lips and he tasted her tears as he kissed her again.

Fear replaced the emptiness as he held her up and when she stopped crying, she kissed him back. It was a turn of events he hadn’t expected and neither of them were thinking, just acting on gut instinct and need. It seemed like he had broken her down to where all her pent up emotions had been kept tightly under control and now it seemed to pour out of her.

When he later untangled his limbs from hers sitting up on the bed – her bed – he looked down and saw the harsh pink scratches on his chest from her nails. They mirrored the ones on his shoulders and back whilst he noticed slight bruising on her wrists and the imprint of his fingers on her thighs. She sighed his name, rousing from the light sleep they had been in and blinked open her eyes.

They were eyes full of confusion, vulnerability and something else. Something warm that made him clench his jaw. No longer empty eyes at least.

She reached over, sliding her hand against the sheets till her fingers brushed over his. He turned his hand over and she lay her palm against his. He couldn’t guess what she was thinking and eventually she let out a long breath before she removed her hand so she could pull up the covers and attempt to sleep.

He got up and went to the kitchen instead of lying down beside her. He found a half-empty bottle of whiskey and poured out a generous amount in a glass. The burn down his throat was good, it was familiar, and took away the urge to lick his lips so he could taste her there.

_-/-_

She stares at her reflection but barely sees herself. All she sees are eyes that are blank blue holes and red-rimmed looking out and skin that is no longer white and flawless but marred with freckles and lines she does not like. Her mouth has not smiled properly for a while and her cheeks ache when she tries. The door handle rattles, breaking the spell she has with ghostly woman in the mirror and she looks at the door. She knows she has been locked in here for nearing an hour or more after she got him out. It is the only place where she can truly hide away and she isn’t ready to come out.

“Go away. Go away. Go away,” she whispers fervently clenching the sink and squeezing her eyes shut. The rattling stops, a half-hearted kick is delivered and then she hears him stagger away.

After a few moments she opens her eyes and runs the tap, putting her hands under the cold tap and splashes the water across her face. That action triggers other memories and she feels her chest constrict but then just as soon they came, they fade as she wipes her face and hands and breathes.

 

-/-

 

…She needed rest. Katniss’ trial had rendered her utterly deflated and she had been sent back into rehabilitation. It had been too early to dismiss her in the first place but then again 13 had never been very accommodating towards her. For some reason he felt responsible for her, for keeping her alive.

That’s why when it was time for her to leave it was agreed that she would remain with him until she could decide what path to then take. She barely registered the move, stepping into his house without any remark at the state of it. Her eyes had wandered over the mess but it seemed she was looking right through it all. He took her up to the guest bedroom which was actually quite well kept considering the rest of the house. She said nothing as he dropped her bags that barely weighed anything as she had few possessions which only served as another painful reminder of everything she had lost. 

He lingered for a moment as she crossed over to the window and opened it. After a few months he noticed she did this in every room she occupied and if there was no window she made sure the door was open. It was as if she needed a constant reassurance that she could escape if she wanted to.

“Thank you,” she whispered from the window, her voice hoarse from having barely spoken for a few days. He sighed gently before he left, closing the door and went in search for alcohol.

She didn’t come down for over a week. He left her food outside her door knocking to tell her it was there and then taking it away when she was done. It was as if she had created her own prison and he wondered if she was ever going to let herself out.

 

-/-

 

The teacup is chipped from where he had knocked it over once. She remembers that clearly and as she runs her thumb over the porcelain rim she smiles a little. It had been a bright day, so bright and warm, just like the kisses that descended down her neck and across her collarbone. The teacup was abandoned on the table where he pushed her back onto and she gasped out his name. Then she heard it, the chinking of the cup against the wood and she remembers, when she was helped up and her dress was pulled down, the tea was cold and there, when she picked up the cup, was a long crack and piece chipped off. He apologised but she waved it off, cradling her favourite cup in her hands, a set from her mother.

It seemed that everything she had brought with her to District 12 got ruined in some way. She had stopped wearing her pretty dresses and shoes, keeping them for when she boarded the train back to the Capitol.

She puts the teacup down and turns her mind away from those memories and in the silence she listens to the clock ticking down the time.

 

-/-

 

…He found her with Peeta, her legs tucked under her and arms wrapped around herself. Both he and Katniss watched them with quiet curiosity. Peeta had managed, more than anyone, to make Effie smile on numerous occasions and she sometimes helped him out with new designs for cakes. It helped them both to heal and Haymitch was only too grateful for that, knowing that there were times where he couldn’t help her.

Katniss glanced at him with the expression of a concerned friend. It hadn’t been lost on them the screaming that occurred in the early hours of the morning. Once in a while Effie’s nightmares were so powerful that as she relived them she was prone to breaking things and accidently harming herself – and him. A bruise was showing on her right arm under the loose sleeve of her spring green dress that hung off her body awkwardly due to the amount of weight she had lost. After calming her, he sat with her until the sun had risen fully in the sky, she stared out at nothing and didn’t move or make a sound since then. When he left her for a while and he came back he found her gone and in some panic that she had done something stupid, had rushed around trying to find her.

He approached her carefully, crouching in front of her and Peeta gave him a weary smile before he got up and discreetly went inside with Katniss to leave them to it. He managed to gently extract one of her hands and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, drawing her attention to him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered through cracked lips and he shrugged.

“Let me take you home.”

He drew her to her feet and took into the house opposite, one hand still holding hers to ground her. Inside she turned to him and leaned up, pressing a chaste kiss on his unshaved cheek. Moving back she ran her finger over the stumble and there was the faintest trace of the old Effie in her expression.

“You need to shave, Haymitch,” is all she said before disappearing into her room.

The next morning she found that, for once, he actually did what she asked of him and it earned him a tiny quirk of a smile.

-/-

 

“I didn’t bloody well move you schedule!” he shouts up at her from the foot of the stairs.

“It can’t have moved itself! It’s very important, Haymitch!”

“I don’t have it!”

Effie clenches her fists and shuts her eyes as she counts to ten in an attempt to control her anger. She has turned their room upside down trying to find that piece of paper that has all the President’s interview times she was holding with the various journalists. She has a backup in her office she could ask someone to copy to her and send it through to her but there was an adjustment she has made on this one that she needs.

“Have you found it?” she yells and listens for the reply that never comes. Storming down stairs he is nowhere to be found and venturing outside she sees him throwing feed at the geese – horrid things that scare her and, in turn, amuse him.

“Haymitch!” she snaps and a goose, disturbed by her sharp voice, honks loudly at her.

“You’re scaring them,” he grumbles at her and then ties the bag up and puts it away heading towards her. “And no I haven’t found it because I don’t have a fucking clue as to where you put it.”

She narrows her eyes before going back inside with him hot on her heels. She opens up cupboards, draws, even the washing machine but comes back empty handed then as she scans the kitchen she notices something lodged by the wine rack and tugging at it she is not surprised that it’s her schedule. The paper wrinkled as if something had been spilt on it (she sniffs at it – whiskey) and some of the names and times are smudged.

“Found it?” he asks peering over her shoulder when he comes inside.

She finds that she can’t even find it in herself to shout at him. It achieves nothing so she just looks at him and walks away.

-/-

 

…She felt a smile tug at her lips and then, with some encouragement, she let out a little laugh. It had been a while since he had heard that sound from her and he cracked a smile back at her. Without thinking she slipped her hand into his. He didn’t withdraw but rather squeezed gently and then when she kissed him, a small kiss that was over as fast as it begun, he made no comment. Traces of the old Effie were beginning to return, she had already gotten to work on cleaning up the house (if she was going to live there, she said, she wanted to make sure she didn’t catch a disease). He just let her because, really, what could he say?

 

-/-

 

She arches her back, her nails digging into his shoulder and lower back as his thrusts are punctuated with a grunt of her name. She turns her head towards his and lightly bites at his throat up to his lips.

“Haymitch,” she whispers suddenly and he slows down, stroking over her cheekbones and chin. He stares at her and she wants to say something, her mouth opens but nothing comes from it. She shakes her head and instead kisses him.

She comes crying out his name and he loses rhythm, moving in her at a static pace till he reaches release then rolls off and onto his back. She lies in his arms as she drifts off. It being a while since they had actually _slept_ together.

 

-/-

 

…She was too tired to move, exhausted from her day of re-arranging the kitchen and living room. Her head lolled against his shoulder and quite without thinking he moved his arm to encompass her and she snuggled further against him. His finger twirled around a soft strand of golden hair (the wigs were long gone) and breathed out, they fell asleep.

A sharp pain on his thigh woke him and high-pitched screams erupted from her as she thrashed in his arms. He gripped her arms in order to stop her from hitting him and herself further and shook her, yelling her name as she screamed and pleaded till her eyes shot open. She stared at him and as reality of where she was sunk, tears sprang in her eyes and she sobbed loudly. He didn’t try to calm her down, letting her cry herself out as he patted her head slightly till she grew quiet.

She moved back from him to the other end of the sofa and pulled her legs up to her chest, staring out with haunted eyes. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, knowing it was early in the morning as that’s when her nightmares usually came, just before dawn. She wouldn’t sleep now, both afraid of sinking back into those dark dreams and too alert to relax. Eventually he got up and made his way to his bed, lying on his back in the middle staring up at the ceiling. He didn’t hear her come up the stairs until she was standing in the door way, a lonely spectre seeking comfort. She stepped in and he moved back till she slipped beneath the covers and curled towards him. Her hands were pressed against his bare chest and he felt her mouth press little kisses against his neck and along his jaw.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please.”

He rolled her underneath him, her legs wrapped around his waist and he pulled off her dress that she was still wearing. He kissed her slowly though their hands were pulling off clothes fast and their bodies urged them on in haste. He paused for a second, this was wrong but then he remembered that this wasn’t the first time that they had done this. The last time had been a desperate attempt to bring her back to reality.

As if guessing his thoughts, she kissed him till he forgot his thoughts and concentrated only on what was happening. There wasn’t time to share pleasure, it was an act of selfishness on both sides, each seeking their own release first and when it was over neither said anything. Laying in the semi-dark they breathed quietly and let the silence take hold.

When he woke up she was gone and then as he found her in the kitchen, she smiled brightly as if nothing happened at all. He was glad that she didn’t bring it up and the both went about their business ignoring the situation. But that night she came to him again and the night after and the night after that till he soon became familiar with her lips on him, the feeling her of her small hands over his skin and the sounds she made. They never spoke about it come the morning but something had changed in the way they were and neither of them wanted to faced it.

 

-/-

 

Her hand is on the door handle and she presses down lightly before drawing back. Without overthinking it, she goes back upstairs and pushes her bags into her wardrobe at the back and covers them over.

When he comes in later that evening she takes his hands and places them upon her body before she kisses him hard. If he is surprised by her sudden actions it doesn’t last long and he backs her against the wall. They move fast, urgent with need and though he is keenly aware that something isn’t quite right he doesn’t want to stop. It’s been a couple of weeks since she has wanted this and she pants with need, hitching her leg around his waist as his hands squeeze her breasts. When he seems to slow down she tells him not to, she wants hard and fast and when he thrusts inside her she knows she will ache from it but she doesn’t care.

In the aftermath they pick at their clothes half hanging off their bodies and quietly avoid each other’s eyes. She offers him a slight smile once she has straightened her dress but his eyes darken and her smile falls. When they go to bed she tells him that she has to go back to the Capitol the next day. He merely grunts and pulls the covers up and she sighs rolling away from him and stares out into the dark room.

 

-/-

 

…He didn’t like it but it was ultimately her decision. She needed to do something, unable to face the endless days of doing nothing, and she wanted to regain something of what was lost. She took the job that President Paylor had offered her, handling the media, and she was in her element making her feel almost normal again. Of course he couldn’t understand that, his eyes flashed with anger and he went off on a rage against the Capitol, bringing back up old ghosts and hate and once again directing it all at her. He yelled at her and the louder his voice got the quieter she grew. He raised his hand up in frustration and she flinched, automatically cowering and his eyes widened.

“Fuck, I-fuck!” he dropped his hand and ran it through his hair. “Eff,” he came closer and she shrank back, her body shaking and he stopped. “Shit.”

Her eyes had taken on that vacant look once more and he managed to gently place his hand on her arm. “Eff, look at me, sweetheart.”

She didn’t and he rubbed her arm gently, getting her to relax and then carefully tipped her chin up so that he could meet her eyes. He half-wished that he could see what she saw every time her eyes clouded over with memories that he knew by her nightmares that it was terrible whatever it was that she endured.

“Effie, I might do a lot of things but I won’t ever hit you,” he told her and when she said nothing he nudged her gently. “Understand?”

She gave a slight nod and he pressed a small kiss on her forehead. True to his word he did do a lot of other things that hurt but he didn’t hit her.

-/-

 

He eyes her clothes, Capitol clothes, as she enters the house. She doesn’t see him immediately and when she does she lets out a little startled sound, pressing her hand against her chest.

“I thought you were might have been asleep,” she says closing the door. He says nothing then gets up and takes her bag, slinging it away towards the stairs. He hears a familiar thud of high-heeled shoes that she had managed to change out of at least. She can smell alcohol coming from him and wonders how much he has had to drink. It’s late and she dislikes the image she conjures of him drinking through a bottle or more till she arrived.

He runs his finger down a small ruffle at her neckline, it seems that the fashion wasn’t quite as extravagant as it used to be. Or at least she didn’t dress that way anymore. But still he found it offending and the expression must have been clear on his face.

“I didn’t have time,” she offers as an apology though hates it. She hates his appearance but he doesn’t change for her.

“I’m sure,” he mutters and she bites back a retort. She’s too tired for petty arguments and pushes past him. Or at least attempts to but he catches her hand and brings her back.

“No welcoming kiss?” he murmurs dropping his head by her ear.

“Well, I wasn’t sure if wanted me to kiss you since I’m still Capitol,” she replies with a spark of anger but he’s not really paying her words much attention, unzipping her dress instead.

“Soon get that off you,” he says and she wants to shove him away. But it has been nearly three weeks since she has been able to go back to him and so turns her head and kisses him. He kisses her back, pushing her dress down to her hips and running his hands up to cup her breasts through her green lace bra when she stops him.

“How much have you drunk?”

“I dunno,” he plants kisses down her neck. “A bit.”

“More than that.”

“Then why ask me?” he tries to open her bra but fumbles and she slaps his hands away. “What?”

“I can’t do this,” she says, her shoulders slumped.

“We’ve fucked before when I’ve been drinking,” he states and she glares at him.

“That might be the case but you’ve drunk more than enough tonight and I don’t want you being sick or passing out on me. Or both.”

“You’re over exaggerating – as usual – I’m _fine_! And it’s been three weeks.”

She shook her head. “You should have thought about that.”

“You should have come home when you said you would instead of spending your time flouncing around that place.”

“I was _working_ which is more than I can say for _you_!”

“Did you forget, sweetheart? I’m a Victor, I don’t _need_ to work.”

There is a moment’s pause and then she moves past him tugging up her dress to her chest.  “I’m going to bed,” she says as she picks up her bag from where he slung it. “I don’t understand why you have to ruin everything.”

She doesn’t listen for his reply, it’s probably something sarcastic and involves more than a few curses. He decides to sleep on the couch and when she comes down in the morning she doesn’t bother picking up the new edition of bottles that he managed to consume. A part of her wishes she hadn’t left the Capitol.

 

-/-

 

…Then one night her visits stopped. He woke up hearing her scream and then waited but she never came. He didn’t confront her about it in the morning but the same thing happened the next night and the night after. It wasn’t that they always had sex, sometimes she just came in to lie with him not even touching and he had almost grown accustom to sharing a bed with someone.

When he heard her scream and then cry till silence descended once more he was resolved and got up. He opened the door to her room, finding her huddled on the bed and she blinked up at him. He froze at the doorway, suddenly unsure and unable to find the right words he backed out and went back to bed.

It was mid-afternoon when they met and she slowly took his hand. She wasn’t normally so forward in touching him but she leaned up and kissed him, echoing the same action she had done months before. But that was different, that kiss had been chaste and kind, this one burned and wanted something from him.

“I don’t want to hide in the dark,” she told him quietly and he was sure she didn’t just mean whatever it was that they were doing.

His questioning was in the grip placed on her hand, betraying some anxiety. She just gave a small, sure nod knowing that this was what she wanted. They told no one specifically, their behaviour towards one another in public at least was relatively the same but sometimes she would slide her hand into his or he would lightly trace patterns across her arm or thigh revealing some of whatever they were.

-/-

 

They are arguing again but that makes no change. She can’t even remember why and that too has become the norm. Everything in the end turns into a fight. He is holding a glass of whiskey, the contents sloshing about and occasionally spilling with his drastic arm movements. She wants to scream at him but her throat already feels hoarse and she’s just too tired.

“You want me to stop? Fine,” he chucks back the whiskey and then throws the glass at a wall. The glass shatters and in her ears rings the sound of it breaking and the half melted ice cubes hitting the wooden floor. They are frozen in silence then, with complete calm, she smooths her hands down her dress carefully.

“I can’t do this anymore.” Her voice is steady and her face betrays nothing

He glances at her sharply. “What?”

She shakes her head. “I can’t – I _won’t_ – do this anymore. I’m tired, too tired of all of this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Us, Haymitch. I’m tired of fighting with you. I’m tired of coming home and the only words we say nowadays are angry ones. You can’t possibly want this?”

“But we’ve always fought,” he said struggling to understand and she sighed.

“This is more than that. We barely talk and if we do it’s to snipe at each other. You hate the fact that I love my job and spend so much time in the Capitol and I hate that you just sit idly by drinking and feed your damned geese. I,” she struggles for a moment then says carefully. “I care about you, but it’s just not enough anymore. I’ve tried but I can’t keep trying to save something that just keeps hurting us.”

She took in a sharp breath after her outburst. He stared at her for a moment, still trying to process her speech.

“If this is about me drinking…”

“That’s only a small part. We’re killing each other Haymitch, can’t you see?” Effie wipes her eyes determined not to cry.

“So, that’s it. Nearly two years and you’re out,” he says and his voice is hollow.

“I wish it wasn’t this way,” she whispers. “But I can’t see how we can possibly stay together when we both wish neither of us was here.”

They say nothing for a few moments, letting her words sink in and then he looks at her and she can’t understand the emotions that play in his grey eyes.

“When are you leaving?”

She didn’t expect that question, thinking that he might try to persuade her to stay and the stab of pain she feels is only the beginning of what will come. Swallowing, she says she can leave tonight and he turns his head away. Without knowing what else to do she goes upstairs and pulls out her case which is still packed from those weeks ago. Hauling it down he is waiting by the door and as she nears he steps to the side. She feels oddly deflated, expecting more from him but he seems resigned and she wants to go, feeling tears burn beneath her eyelids.

“I…” the words die in her throat and she leans up to kiss his cheek. “Goodbye Haymitch,” she whispers opening the door.

“Effie…”

She looks up at him expectantly but he says nothing more and she leaves, hearing the door click shut soon after she steps outside. She holds herself together until she boards the train then in the silence of her compartment, she cries herself to sleep as her heart breaks in her chest.

He barricades himself in his house, barely eating or sleeping just drinking himself into oblivion where he feels nothing at all for when he’s awake, he feels her absence too keenly and it’s a pain he can’t handle.

 

-/-

 

…It was a barely whisper but he heard her all the same.

_I like being here with you._

It was the closest they’d ever get with words. He didn’t say it back (she didn’t expect him to either) but he gave her a rare smile which was enough. In that moment they felt as if they had forever. 


End file.
